Character Sketches
by TheologyDiscography
Summary: Sketches of a character I was asked to write into a story. Here specifically for ThunderousVictory, but I'd appriciate all the input anyone cares to give!
1. Emily Meets Dean

"So, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a tiny town like this?" She glanced up at the man sitting at the counter next to her.

"Waiting for someone who at least has a decent pickup line," she sniped. He pantomimed being wounded. She quirked an eyebrow in amusement, but didn't say anything.

"Well, I'm Dean." He pointed across the bar to a man sitting back against the wall with a computer, looking far to studious for his surroundings. Like he'd said, this was a tiny little town. The closest college was nearly a hundred miles away. "That's Sam. We're real estate assessors. We were wondering if you'd noticed anything odd in the area."

"Odd how?" she asked guardedly. He shrugged.

"Anything at all, really. See," his voice dropped and he leaned in to compensate, "honestly, we have a couple of friends who're looking to move into the area, but they wanted to be sure it's a good place to live. You know, you hear all kinds of stories these days, they're just cautious. So I told them Sam and I would check it out."

"Sam your lover or something?" Judging by his reaction, the answer was no, but still, it was amusing as all get out.

"No!" he snapped, then took a deep breath to calm himself. "Sorry. Sam's my brother. I'm just getting tired of people assuming relations that aren't there."

"Well, you've kept one eye on him the entire time we've been talking, so I figured it wasn't just a business partnership between the two of you."

"You're sharp," he said in a vaguely complementary tone. She smirked at him.

"Family trait, I'm afraid. Right up there with paranoia and lightfingers." She winked at him.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

His only defense he could come up with later when he realized she'd lifted his wallet and left a single slip of paper with a phone number and nothing else, was that he'd honestly thought she was teasing him.


	2. Emily Meets Sam

**It just occured to me, I should probably point out that I don't see Emily as having actually stolen his walet to steal it. More like, she took his wallet to hold his attention. She thinks he's interesting and doesn't want to be forgotten when he leaves.**

"So, you're Sam?" she asked, sliding in to the seat next to him. He looked up, surprised.

"Yeah. How'd you know that?" she gave a little half shrug.

"Your brother pointed you out while we were talking. But he was boring. So, how's your business going?" He looked at her. "I'm assuming that's what you're working on."

"Good. It's going good." She smiled slightly.

"Finding anything out?" He shrugged.

"Well, you know. Things take time." Her smile widened the slightest bit at his prevarication. Apparently he was used to dodging questions, but she was getting the feeling that he had no idea what she was talking about.

"How about you give me a rundown of what you've got so far? I mean, I live here, so I should be entitled to know what's going on in the area, right?"

"Actually, if you live here, you could help me out." She sighed aggrievedly.

"I've already told your brother, I haven't noticed anything odd. Not so much as a broken window out of place. No strange weather, no odd power fluctuations, insect or rodent infestations, no abnormal deaths, nothing." He raised an eyebrow at the list, but didn't say anything. "So how about you?" He shrugged slightly.

"Like you said, the place seems fairly quiet," he replied. Glancing across the bar, he rolled his eyes at Dean's raised eyebrows. "So, can I get you a drink?" She glanced at him and then, seemingly coming to a decision, nodded.

"A strawberry daquiri, please." He nodded and rose from his chair, closing the screen of his computer.

"You look after my computer," he warned. "If anything happens to it, I'll know who to blame." She smiled secretively as he turned towards the bar, and then opened the laptop back up, quickly scrolling through the pages he had up before closing it again.

It looked like she'd been right; they definitely weren't here about any friends or real estate.

**Sneaky, isn't she? Though, I do wonder why Sam actually trusted her with his computer. Isn't that bad, when even the writer doesn't know?**


	3. Emily and Spencer Talk

"Where- where's he gone?" she stuttered out, cursing herself for the slip, but dammit, it was cold, and she was chained to a frikkin' chair in a little cabin out in the middle of nowhere, Sam and Dean were who knew where with no chance of contacting them, and her only companion seemed to have just a bit of a crush on their captor.

"I don't- I don't know. He's- he's going to kill them." Well, at least she wasn't the only one stuttering. She sighed.

"I'm Emily."

"Emily? One of my teammates, her name is Emily." She rolled her eyes.

"Emily-Loraine, actually, but I never can get people to call me by my full name."

"Emily-Loraine." She smirked slightly despite herself at the way he rolled the name around in his mouth. "That's a pretty name."

"Well, thank you. I'd return the complement, but I've yet to learn your name."

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, with the FBI's Behavior Analysis Unit." She scoffed.

"Right. I think he's been setting your dosage a little too high, sweetheart." He flushed slightly at the reminder that they had both been drugged multiple times since their capture.

"He's just trying to help us," he said softly, as though he was trying to convince himself that it was alright. She scoffed again.

"If he wanted to help us, he could let us go." He sighed.

"It's not that simple. He's suffering from Disassociative Identity Disorder, and two of his three personalities want to kill us. He's struggling just to keep us alive. He doesn't dare free us."

"Why not?"

"From what I can tell, one of the personalities was his father, who was abusive, in a demandingly religious sort of way." He looked pleased about something, but she wasn't sure what.

"And that's a good thing?"

"No, no, that's actually a fairly bad thing. I was just thinking, I've apparently figured out how to talk about things without lots of hard facts and statistics." She had to laugh at that.

"You had to learn how to do that? Most of us have to learn _to_ include that sort of stuff." He shrugged.

"I have an IQ of 187, and an ededic memory."

"So, you were telling me about our captor?" He started slightly and nodded.

"Yeah. So, his core personality is Tobias, who's the one with the water and the drugs. He brought in the sheep earlier, so I'm guessing we'll get food eventually. The second is his father, Charles."

"That's the name he told us earlier, when he was bringing in the firewood," she remembered. He looked pleased.

"That's right. But these two personalities are in conflict. Tobias, his whole life probably, was trying to escape his father. It's probably why he got into drugs in the first place. He told me it was the only way to escape him when he shot me up earlier." The words 'shot me up' sounded like they didn't quite fit in his mouth, and at any other point in time, she would have giggled. "And from the conflict, there arose a third personality, one that could resolve the conflicts. It took the form of the Archangel Raphael."

"And..." She trailed off questioningly.

"The people he's killing, he thinks he's an angel punishing the sinners for their sin."

"So, what you're saying is that Tobias isn't really guilty, but his other personalities won't let him do much to help us?"

"Right, because if he let us go, Charles or Raphael would take over and kill us as we tried to escape. And they have an advantage, since we have no idea where we are."

"Actually, I have sort of an idea. I was out with a couple of friends when he found me and brought me here. They're probably looking for me, but there's not really any way I can get in touch with them. I'd argued with them, and left to cool down. They probably think I'm just ignoring their calls."

"Do you do that often?" she sighed.

"Only when they really piss me off. Which does seem to be a disproportionate amount of time. But they're sweethearts, really; just bull-headed sometimes."

**I wasn't actually intending to write anything useful with these, they were more to get a feel for the character, but I think I might incorperate this into the story, it fits so well. Assuming you approve it, Thunder. **

**As a matter of fact, I might end up using all of them.**


	4. Emily Meets Missouri

"Well now, come in you three, no use standing around in the entryway." Emily flinched at the voice calling suddenly through the door that was just barely ajar. There was no way anyone in the other room could see them from where they were standing, and they hadn't made any noise coming in. "Sam! Dean! You get your sorry selves in here, I said!" She grinned as the boys moved quickly through the door, following them more slowly.

By the time she found them again, Sam and Dean were sitting on a couch, a plate of cookies sitting on the table in between them. A rotund black woman was just through another doorway, in what looked like a kitchen, pulling out another pan of cookies.

"So, how you boys been?" she questioned casually, pulling her oven mitts off as she turned to face them. "Dean Winchester, don't you dare talk to me with your mouth full. I know for a fact you were taught better than that."

"We've been fine, Missouri," Sam said once he'd swallowed, since Dean was now thoroughly chastened and didn't want to talk to her anymore. "Been traveling with Emily for the last couple of months." Missouri smiled and turned to her.

"Hello, I'm assuming you're Emily. I'm Missouri Mosely." Emily smiled.

"Hello, Missouri. I'm Emily-Loraine Nakai." She reached out to take Missouri's extended hand. Missouri's brow creased.

"Oh, honey, don't you worry. You did the right thing. You can't help him until he wants to be helped. He's got to figure it out on his own." Emily jerked her hand back.

"That's very rude to read people's mind without their permission," she snapped, turning on her heel. "Sam, Dean, I hope you have a nice visit. I'm going to wait in the Impala."

"Come on, Emily," Sam said cajollingly, like she was a child throwing a temper tantrum. "Practically everyone she meets comes to her for some psychic advice. By now, it's second nature to her. I'm sorry I didn't think to warn you." Emily huffed in irritation, but walked back over to steal the plate of cookies from the boys, taking them over to a solitary chair in the corner, hunching over them protectively once she sat down, her glare making it obvious she did _not _intend to share.

**Don't you just love Missouri?**


End file.
